


Appropriate Workplace Behavior

by HandsomeManExpress (DangerousCommieSubversive)



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Intimidation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2506697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/HandsomeManExpress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad survives getting his ass kicked by the Shield and hides himself away to do paperwork and get a little drunk. And when he emerges he finds that Roman is also hanging around, also kind of drunk, and...thinks he's cute?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Appropriate Workplace Behavior

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this backstage segment](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sluaZYykMYs), which was _very important to me._

It takes a while for Brad to pick himself up after the Shield jumps him. First there's about ten minutes to come to, and once he's awake he has to get his breath back, and then he has to account for his variety of injuries, and then finally he pulls himself up using the couch and limps to the medic station to make sure he doesn't have any broken bones or sprains. They patch him up and confirm no brokens, which is good news at least.

Satisfied, he grabs a bottle of water and a protein bar and hides in his temporary office for the rest of the show. He may be the General Manager, but all that means is that he's supposed to be in the building. He doesn't have to go anywhere _near_ the ring.  There's some paperwork to do, he's got a six-pack stashed in the mini-fridge, he can stay out of the way and still be doing his job.

The paperwork is pretty easy. The beer comes next. He gets a decent buzz going.

Once the show's over  and the main halls have had another good half hour to get clear , he ventures out, making at least a pretense of checking the lounge to make sure it's been straightened back up.  Mostly it's clear again, they've fixed the pictures, but the couch is still pulled away from the wall, so he rolls his eyes and  shoves it back into place.

Suddenly there's a presence behind him. A large presence. Very  _close_ behind him.  A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, a  warm breath blows past his ear, and a deep voice says, “Hey.”

Brad's back goes stiff, and he turns around and looks up at Roman Reigns. “Ah. Um. Roman. What do you want? Are you here to beat me up again? Because I have to say that you're not going to take me by surprise again.  I'm ready for you.”

The corner of Roman's mouth twitches, like he thinks this is cute. “Just saying hi.”

“Uh...good, ok...” Brad glances nervously at Roman's hand on his shoulder.

Roman's grip tightens for a moment, and then he lets go of Brad's shoulder—only to grab the end of his tie. Just like before. He fingers the material for a moment thoughtfully, wraps the tie around his hand, and pulls Brad up and in—

“I'm warning you, if you try to start something now, I  _will_ put you on proba—”

—and  kisses him square on the mouth.

Brad blinks, shocked, and when the kiss  _stops_ he says, “This is a put-on, isn't it? Ambrose and Rollins are waiting nearby with a camera? They're filming this and they're going to show it to Triple H and Stephanie and get me fired.”

“Naw, they're not here, they'd be  _pissed_ if they knew what I was doing.”

 

–

 

Seth groans, his head hitting the tiles  of the shower wall . “ Oh my  god,  _Dean_ _..._ where the fuck is Roman, by the way?”

“Mm—” Dean looks up for a flickering moment. “I told him to go have some fun somewhere else. Wanted you alone for a while.”

 

–

 

Roman still hasn't let go of Brad's tie. And he's watching Brad's  _mouth_ as Brad says, “Well, if this isn't a set-up, then what  _are_ you doing? I think you should let go of me.”

“Saw you in here.” Roman leans in a little closer, reaches up with his free hand, and...runs his fingers through Brad's hair. “Man, you are fucking  _gorgeous._ Did you know that? Did you know how  _pretty_ you are?”

Brad can feel his face getting warm. “I think that's beside the point.”

Roman kisses him again. This time Brad can sort of figure out that it's coming, not that it helps.

Well.

He  _could_ have dodged.

He just...didn't.

For reasons.

Which aren't entirely clear to him.

This time there's also some tongue,  and Roman tastes like blood and whiskey and licks into his mouth like he's delicious. Brad definitely doesn't shut his eyes for it, he just. He blinks. For a long time. It's a long blink. Which may or may not be accompanied by the stirrings of an erection.

He's not paying attention to that. He's the interim General Manager and this is  _definitely_ not appropriate workplace behavior.

Roman pulls back and says, “You are fucking  _gorgeous._ I, I am, I want  to get you naked  _right now,_ and you're gonna suck my dick, and then I'm gonna fuck you  _so_ hard.”

And with the lingering taste of whiskey on Brad's lips it finally clicks. “Roman, are you  _drunk?_ ”

Roman grins genially at him. “Maybe a little.”

“Ok.” Brad reaches up and carefully disentangles Roman's hand from his tie, gets the other hand out of his hair. Assesses the situation.  Nothing wrong with being a little drunk. Given that he's  _also_ a little drunk. “That's  _not_ what we're doing right now.”

He m oves around Roman—dodging the other man's attempt to grab Brad around the waist—and closes the door carefully.

“ _Here's_ what we're going to do.” Roman gets a grip on his tie again, but Brad grabs his wrist with one hand. “ _You're_ going to suck  _my_ dick. And then you get to fuck me when I  _say_ so.”

Roman thinks about it for a moment, and then says, “Yeah, ok,” and shoves him onto the couch.

This time at least he lands in a sitting position on the cushions and not along the top against the wall.

He barely has time to get settled before Roman's straddling his lap, pulling out the knot on his tie with impatient hands. The knot comes apart after a moment's tugging, and he leaves it hanging loose around Brad's neck. He gets distracted for a moment running his fingers down Brad's arms, tracing the lines of his biceps through sleeves that fit a bit too tightly. “Bet you wear these just to make us all look at you,” he  murmurs. “Make us think about getting you naked. You're such a fucking slut.”

Brad grabs the straps of his tac vest and pulls him down so they're making eye contact, and tries to look as dangerous and in-control-of-the-situation as possible. “ _What_ did you just call me?”

“Fucking slut.” Roman fumbles at his shirt buttons. “With your shirts that don't fit and your prissy ties, all bending your tight ass over in front of the door like you're just waiting for someone to come in.” Oddly, he doesn't sound like he's  _trying_ to be insulting or aggressive; the crudities almost sound  _affectionate._ “Wanted to do this  _before,_ but we had a  _match_ to get to. Gonna fucking  _wreck_ your ass.”

He goes for another kiss, but Brad stops him. “Roman. Did I say you could kiss me  again ?”

“No.”

“Who's in charge here?”

“I am.”

Swing and a miss. Brad shakes him, just a little. It feels like he's only able to move Roman because Roman is  _letting_ him. “No, you're  _not._ I'm calling the spots here.”

“Fuck you, you don't tell me what to do.”

“Then you're not getting any.”

“You don't call _any_ spots, you're not even a wrestler.”

“You think I'm not a wrestler? I could kick your ass. It could happen.”

Roman grins. “I'm _drunk,_ though.” Then he kisses Brad again, whiskey-scented and forceful, and goes back to trying to undo his shirt.

The first button goes pinging off into a corner of the room, and Brad says, “ _Hey._ This is a _good shirt,_ dammit.”

“ _Ha._ You _do_ buy them like that.”

 _Shit._ “Uh.”

“You _do_ want us to look at you.” Two more buttons go flying. Roman's still got that genial smile, too, like he's making chit-chat with Renee and not stripping Brad with scandalous intent.”Well, today's your lucky day. I'm gonna wreck your ass, you _amazing_ slut. I'm gonna fucking _eat_ you.”

Brad gets a better grip on Roman's vest with one hand, grabs his hair with the other, and drags his head back. Roman grunts in surprise, blinking down at him as he forces eye contact and says, “Don't _call_ me that. You and your buddies already got the jump on me once today. If you want me now, you have to play _nice._ ” He gives his handful of hair a sharp tug, just as punctuation. “ _Got_ it?”

The look in Roman's eyes changes. It gets _hot._ _Good_ hot. “Got it, boss.”

 _Shit,_ Brad realizes as Roman goes back to popping buttons off his shirt. _Is_ this _how Dean and Seth keep him in line?_

There's a little chorus of clicks as Roman tears his shirt open the rest of the way, and then he bends down and just fastens his mouth to the side of Brad's throat.

Brad makes a stupid noise.

Roman bites him, it's definitely _biting,_ and then says, “So?”

Brad's hand tightens in Roman's hair. “So what?”

“You're the boss. Call the spots.”

And he _means_ it, and Brad goes abruptly from vaguely aroused to almost _painfully_ hard, the beers he drank setting a pleasant background hum in his head as he says, “Keep doing what you're doing. And take the vest off, all that Kevlar's going to give me a rash if you keep rubbing it against me.”

He can feel the grin against his throat for a moment. Then Roman rears back, pops open buckles and opens zippers and rips velcro with the ease of long practice, and shrugs his vest off.

Brad gapes at him and suddenly feels very small. He shoves the feeling aside and says, “Kiss me again.”

Roman kisses him, thrusts in with his tongue, and says into his mouth, “You're cute when you're bossy.”

Brad retorts with, “You're surprisingly hot when you're listening to me,” and then decides to get some of his own back by unzipping Roman's fly and reaching in to get a (very _full_ ) handful of his cock.

“Fuck you, I'm always hot.”

“I thought that was your plan here.”

“Yeah, guess so.”

Five minutes later, Brad's on his back on the couch with one of Roman's massive thighs pressed against his crotch when he has a hideous revelation and says, “ _Shit._ We don't have any lube.”

“Thought you were gonna blow me.” Roman blinks fuzzily. “Or I was gonna blow you. One of those.”

“Both. Both works. Both is good.”

Both is _very_ good.

When Roman's retrieving his vest and Brad's trying to salvage the remains of his shirt, they glance at each other in a moment of sobering awkwardness.

“So. Uh.” Brad wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling self-conscious and suddenly concerned about whether there'd been security cameras running. “That happened.”

“Yep.” Roman adjusts his belt and grins awkwardly at him. “Is it happening again?”

Brad thinks about it for a moment, digs a pen out of his back pocket, and grabs Roman's hand. “Room 306 at the hotel.” He uses one of the lines on the other man's palm as a guide as he writes out his number, pauses for a moment of consideration, and then underneath his room number scrawls, _bring lube._ “Show up at eleven tonight.”

 


End file.
